Best Lesbian Erotica 2012

’50s WAITRESS Julia Noel Goldman

The television claims it’s a hundred degrees out, and it’s almost midnight. The air-conditioning didn’t work at all during my twelve-hour shift. It was broken on the D train too, and we can’t afford AC, so thank god I don’t mind the smell of my own sweat. I sit on the couch with the fan pointed at me, in cutoffs and a white tank top, my damp blonde hair in a high ponytail, drinking a dripping Budweiser—it’s nice. The simple things are nice. Uncomplicated. I have everything I want. Except what I’m about to get.

More than once today I caught myself smiling at the memory of you on our bed this morning. Just after sunrise, lying on your stomach on the fresh white sheet, your caramel skin flawless, like suede infused by the dawn light. The curve of your ass inspired me all day, reminding me that I am the most fortunate woman on earth, because I get to fuck you.

I hear your key in the lock. I listen for the way the Bettie Page figure on your key chain hits the door. I close my eyes as you enter. The sound of your thighs rubbing together through your stockings excites me. Your heels on the wood floor. Your intake of breath when you see me. I feel you standing in front of me and I open my eyes. There you are, directly blocking the television, my ’50s waitress, looking as tired as I feel, but smiling. You’ve got on a gray skirt and a white shirt stained with sweat in the most charming places, and your dark, curly hair is a mess—you look perfect.

“Hey, lady,” you say, with the warmest smile.

“Hey. Hell of a day,” I reply with my own smile.

“Yeah.” Your skirt rides up your thighs as you climb onto the couch and straddle my lap, helping yourself to a swig of my beer.

“Yeah,” I say, “but then there’s you.”

“Yeah. Lucky to feel lucky in a world like this.” You finish my beer.

Straddling my lap, you tilt your head down to kiss me and I respond as if I’ve been waiting all day for this moment. I have. I thought of nothing else. About your breasts and your sexy, cola-colored eyes and about how when I’m with you nothing else matters anymore. Your hair falls into my face as I slip my tongue between your lips, sending little sparks everywhere.

Though I’m sweating, your hot weight feels fantastic in my lap. The delicious scent of you floats up toward me and I stroke your ass under your short skirt—you’re not wearing panties, just stockings and a garter belt, and it makes me wet. Yes, life is good. I slide my hands down your damp thighs, back to your butt, over and over as we kiss. Everything is slippery with our perspiration and the touch of your garter belt is such a sexy trip, like you really are this bad girl from the past dropped down into my lap for me to fuck. Night after night, year after year, forever.

I don’t know why the feeling of you cupping my jaw while you kiss me makes me so hot, but it does. It could be the kissing scenes in old movies—you knew those chicks fucked, but how could they, so delicate and proper and well dressed? But you know that behind closed doors they engaged in unabashed, unexpected fucking. At least the lucky ones did.

I squeeze your naked ass hard with both hands and I grind up against you, spreading a trail of little kisses along your neck. My senses are overwhelmed with your reaction to what I’ve got hidden in my pants, something I put on when I got home, purchased especially for this occasion. You moan and press yourself back and forth against it, leaving a warm sticky trail on my cutoffs. I tell you it feels good. Beads of sweat drip from your hair onto my arms, chest and face, leaving the scent of your coconut hair conditioner everywhere.

My hands snake up to the small of your back and you lean down into my face, kissing me hard as we rock against each other. Our lips wet and slippery, our tongues entwined, you raise yourself up higher on your knees, pulling up my tank top to rub your moist curls against my abdomen. My hands run up the backs of your thighs, pushing your skirt up until it’s caught around your waist, cupping your ass, giving it tight rhythmic squeezes. You moan, arch your back, your pussy pressing harder against me, fucking at me. I run my fingers along the tops of your stockings, let them stray into the dark, warm place where your thighs meet, just below your ass. You groan and your legs bend as your thighs part for me, then you whimper as my fingers caress them, grazing your pubic hair from behind, titillating you further. You rest your forehead on my shoulder, panting. So many choices for my next move.

“So, wife, what would you like to do now?” I whisper, still caressing you between the legs, just next to your pussy, the velvet-soft skin of your inner thighs.

“I brought burgers home from work,” you whisper as your fingers open my fly just enough that you can pull my fabulous new hot-pink cock out, bending it in ways I imagine would hurt if it were real. But when you wipe your hand through your come and begin to stroke the length of it, it’s more than real enough. I groan as you start slowly jerking me off, pressing the base of it hard against my soaked clit with every stroke.

“Ugh, burgers, yeah, let’s just stop now and have burgers,” I whisper, stroking your pussy gently, as your come drips down my hand. You gasp. I grab your hips and lower you toward my cock. You ride the tip of it for a moment, your mouth open, your eyes closing with pleasure, rubbing your clit against it. I slip it into you quickly, pulling you down until you are sitting in my lap. You shudder, whisper my name. I keep hold of your hips and begin to move you up and down, thrusting up into you, sure and slow. I stare at your hands as they unbutton your shirt to reveal your fantastic tits in their little black satin bra. I press my face into your cleavage and breathe deeply—like the white stuff in the middle of Oreos, that’s what your body lotion smells like. I keep my hands on your ass as I rub my face all over your tits, biting at your nipples through the satin as I fuck you.

“Oh, yeah,” I say.

“Oh, yeah? My legs are gonna break off at the thighs if we stay in this position much longer.”

I laugh. You wrap your legs around me and I put my hands on your ass, staggering two steps to gently lay you down on the coffee table, and start fucking you again. The pressure of the base of the dildo against my soaked clit is immensely pleasurable, but it’s only one of the things that makes me keep fucking you. The main thing is the sounds you make, and after that, how beautiful you look, lying on your back under me, hair spread out around your head, your face flushed with sex. Your eyes are closed and your mouth is open, smiling, making the most erotic little grunts in time with my thrusts.

“Oh, baby, I love you,” I whisper into your ear, listening to your breathing, ragged and excited, tiny gasps. I wrap my left arm around your shoulders and rest my head against yours, breathing hard, holding you close, our bodies sliding against each other. My right hand snakes up your side, caressing your skin, moves up onto your breast and stays there, squeezing in time with my thrusts.

“Oh, yeah, baby, just keep fucking me.” Your voice is deep and makes me want you more.

I fuck you faster, deeper, dripping with sweat. My cock slides in and out of you, pressing against your clit, against my clit. I bite your shoulder harder than I mean to. I whisper that I’m going to come.

“Yeah… okay,” you moan and grab my ass, your feet high in the air behind me, pressing your pussy against me faster and harder, starting to come as I start to come. Your gasps and whimpers send chills through me, my toes feel cold and I come with you, my face pressed against your neck.

Eyes still closed, I kiss you. Your mouth is hot and wet and tastes like sex.“I love you,” I whisper.

“Yeah. For seven years now.” You laugh. “Happy anniversary.”

“Yeah, happy anniversary.”

I pull out of you gently and we sit together on the couch, pressed up close, stuck to each other. I reach for the bag of burgers. Life is good.